


I Don't Wanna Die Tonight (By the Hand of Anybody Else but You)

by doctor_funkinstein



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, POV Twelfth Doctor, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28508334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_funkinstein/pseuds/doctor_funkinstein
Summary: It's Whouffaldi smut. Does what it says on the tin.Each chapter is named after and contains a quote from the show. This atrocity is dedicated to my friend (who we shall call Blue) for not even remotely trying to discourage me.
Relationships: The Doctor & Clara Oswin Oswald, Twelfth Doctor & Clara Oswin Oswald, Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

The Doctor wasn't much on physical contact - not in this body, at least. He perferred to be left to his own devices and leave his mind in its flesh unperturbed by the hands of others.

The exception, of course, was Clara.

Clara, who took his hand; Clara, who hugged him from behind as he stood at the console; Clara, who had saved him so many times.

Yet he still kept his distance when he could. In the TARDIS, he had no way of stopping himself. No onlookers to deter him, no disaster to stop from happening. Just the deepest, kindest eyes he'd ever seen, and skin so soft he dreamt of carressing it, and the curve of her hips-

The Doctor had distracted himself. The TARDIS juddered, throwing them off to one side. The jolt snapped the peace in the console room. The Doctor heard Clara's foot slip off the stair behind him, and instinct took over. He spun himself around, crossed the distance between them in a single stride, and caught Clara against him. A fair few books flung themselves off the shelves around them.

"Sorry," the Doctor muttered. Clara stood on the bottom stair, high enough that her head had cleared the Doctor's shoulder and her cheek now rested on his coat. Her arms were wrapped sinfully around his ribs. "I got distracted for a moment."

She pushed herself into standing and blinked in surprise to find the Doctor's face level with hers. He tried not to stare directly into her eyes.

"Distracted by what?" she asked, unknowingly.  
The Doctor cleared his throat. _The hips that are now pressed against my stomach,_ he thought.

"The equation in my head I was solving became unexpectedly... Difficult." He was finding it hard to speak. He almost dare not breathe - Clara had never been so close to him before, not for this long. He focused on keeping his breathing steady and tried to ignore the tightening of his chest and obliques.

"You're awful close, Doctor," she whispered.  
The Doctor swallowed. Stupid Doctor, of course he was. He apologised quickly and went to move away, but found Clara's arms hadn't moved in the slightest. He was locked to her.

"That wasn't a complaint."

She was so close. Clara Oswald, in the arms of the Doctor, in the TARDIS, where they were safe, and nobody could see.

He wasn't going to be able to stop himself. Her lips were so close to his own, all he'd have to do was lean forward, just slightly-

_No, Doctor,_ he told himself. But her eyes were so beautiful, and right there, and they were doing things to his head. He couldn't think straight.  
And then his hand was moving when he didn't tell it to. His palm cupped her jaw, and his fingers wound their way into the hair at the nape of her neck, and she's so beautiful, and she's there, and she's Clara, his Clara.

Her eyes searched his. A smile was tugging at her lips.

"Doctor-?"

"Clara, I'm about to ask you a question, and the answer is very important."

Her brow furrowed for a second, but her face moved no further away from the Doctor's.

He took a breath. "May I kiss you, Clara?"

It took the second of surprise on the face of the woman before him for him to start berating himself. He knew what the answer would be, what the answer had to be: no. It was an abuse of his power. It was reckless to even ask, to not think of Danny, or her pain, or any of the things she'd been through, or how she knew exactly what he'd done in wiping out his own people. He was a monster, and she was impeccable in a very literal sense of the word, and what he'd just asked was unforgivea-

The Doctor didn't immediately register what was going on. Soft lips were against his own. His eyes slipped closed. Her hair was brushing against his neck in ways that were intoxicating. Her hands around his ribs pulled him closer than he ever thought possible, so much so he had to steady himself by lifting one foot up to the stair she stood on. Clara's lips moved slowly against the Doctor's, as if she was savouring the taste. Inwardly, the Doctor saw this as a mercy - if she had moved any faster or kissed any deeper, he wouldn't be able to control certain parts of himself (that were pressed against her leg and she would certainly have been able to tell).

It could have been three seconds. It could have been a year. The Doctor had no way of knowing.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to do that?" Clara asked, still whispering, her forehead pressed to the Doctor's shoulder. "Stupid old man."

The Doctor heaved enormous breaths and suppressed a whoop of joy. He moved his arms so that they were around her back. Clara pulled her hands in so they rested between their chests, and then snaked them downwards. The Doctor's breath hitched as Clara's fingers brushed against the top of his trousers. The way they were positioned, he couldn't move his groin away from her leg, and he could feel himself hardening.

Clara laughed.

"I can't help it, Clara," the Doctor started.

She shook her head. "Who said I'm not enjoying it? To feel you like this..." Her words trailed off, eaten by the smile the Doctor knew coated her face. "I can always help you with that." She lifted her head from his shoulder and met his eye.

The Doctor felt the moment he let go. Her words sent a shudder down his spine, setting each and every nerve in his to body stand to absolute attention. He was suddenly completely aware of her warmth bleeding through his clothes and her breath on his face... How could he say no to that? How could he say no to her?

She squealed as he picked her up by the thighs and wrapped her legs around his midriff. She continued to laugh heartily as he carried her to her room, and then allowed herself to be put down outside the door.

"Are you sure about this, Clara?" the Doctor asked quietly.

Clara looked up at him kindly. "Of course." She pushed the door open with one hand and took the Doctor's in the other. She led him directly to the foot of the bed and then stopped and looked at him thoughtfully. The Doctor stood somewhat awkwardly in front of her, entirely unsure what to do next.

"Clara, it's been a while."

She simply nodded and smiled. "That's okay. I'll help you, see?" Her hands had moved to his shoulders, where they pushed the jacket he wore back and off. The Doctor let it slip from his wrists and heard the gentle thump of it reaching the floor. Clara's fingers ghosted over the buttons on his waistcoat so gently he didn't realise she was undoing them until that, too, rested on the floor.

A half-smile broke across Clara's lips. She took her time undoing the buttons of his white dress shirt; her eyes glimmered somewhere between mischief and awe as more and more of the Doctor's pale chest met them. He was content to stand and watch her undress him, as the hands that did so were so skilled it drove him close to mad.

Eventually, all the buttons of his shirt were undone, leaving his chest open to the air. Clara ran her hands in underneath it, running her fingers along his stomach and back. The Doctor held his breath and closed his eyes and goosebumbs began to raise along his skin. When that breath came back out, it was jagged and desperate. Clara's fingers reached the collar of the Doctor's open shirt and pushed it off completely.

He had expected to feel exposed, or self-conscious, but instead felt nothing but contented; with Clara, he never had to be anything he wasn't. She had seen his entire life and still decided to love him like this. When his eyes fluttered open again, they were met immediately by Clara's. She gazed up at him steadily - it was enough to force his hand. He felt himself smile before leaning in to kiss her again.

He thought there would be more desperation, more lust, but this kiss was even sweeter. Clara let the Doctor lead it, let him take the step towards her, let him lift her jumper up and off her head. He didn't have the patience Clara did, but was still bewildered. He had intended to remove her jumper and go back to kissing her, breaking for no more than a moment, but her shirt had come off, too, leaving Clara in only her bra in front of him. This entirely unexpected delight threw the Doctor off gaurd, and he staggered a pace backwards. Clara rose an arm in front of her and he cursed himself for making her feel self-conscious.

"Oh, by the Goddess." The words tumbled out of his mouth. "You're... Clara, you're so beautiful." Did he really sound that much in disbelief?

Clara pressed her lips together into a thin smile. She dropped her arm.

"May I?" the Doctor asked. Clara nodded. He reached his arms around behind her and unclasped her bra. His eyes never left Clara's. He removed it from her slowly, drinking in every new inch of skin that was available to see as it was revealed.

He brushed his fingers along her ribs by the sides of her breasts and she responded with a gasp. Her hands had migrated to his arms, and her fingers wrapped around his biceps. He shouldn't enjoy that as much as he does. He's really starting to notice how he's straining against his trousers. Part of him is telling him to go faster, to rip Clara's clothes off then and there and satisfy the fire burning in his loins, but he knows he has to take this slowly. He knows that this is the first time he takes her and that's gotta mean something.

Clara'd already taken her shoes off, and the Doctor hadn't been wearing any. All that was left was the his trousers and her skirt.

The Doctor trailed his hands down her sides to Clara's skirt and bit his lip. He wrapped both his arms around her waist to reach the zip at the back, holding her so close their skin was pressed together. The zip came smoothly undone, and Clara's breath hitched slightly in anticipation. The Doctor followed the skirt down her legs until he was crouched in front of her and was watching her delicate feet step out of the skirt and drenched knickers. Instead of standing up quickly, he trailed his fingers up and over the pristine skin of her leg; he dipped in around her hip and close to where she obviously needed him, and then up her stomach - relishing in how the skin danced aroud him - before coming up and over her breast until finally reaching her neck and pulling her hair away from her lust-darkened eyes.

He leaned in to kiss her, one hand in her hair, the other holding the small of her back, but pulled away when he felt her hands desperately fumbling with his belt buckle.

He stilled her hands with his own. "Take your time," he murmured. "Let me enjoy you for as long as I can."

Clara whimpered. "Doctor, I can't last like this much longer."

The Doctor chuckled and undid his belt by himself, watched by the greedy eyes of Clara. She involuntarily licked her lips and the Doctor felt himself twitch. His trousers and boxers came off a damn sight quicker than Clara's skirt had because he was close to not being able to stand it, either.  
The Doctor was suddenly nervous.

"I don't really know if it's remarkable in any way," he confessed, motioning down at his erection but not looking himself. "I haven't had the time to check."

Clara scoffed. "Nothing to be insecure about, I promise." She laid herself back on the bed, hair splayed out behind her like she was underwater. The Doctor clambered on after her, knees either side of her hips, holding her in place. Her hands rested on his shoulders - the way she looked at the Doctor made both his hearts pound against his ribs, and the way her naked torso looked underneath him made him ache below the belt.

"Are you ready for me, Clara?" he whispered in her ear.

A moan escaped her lips at his mere words and she nodded frantically. "Yes - please, Doctor. I need you..."

The Doctor positioned himself with his hand and then slowly slipped himself inside of Clara. She responded with a low, desperate moan and a tightening of her grip on his shoulders.

The Doctor lost all coherent thought for a moment. His head went in a thousand directions all at once - chasing the pleasure; rejoicing in the feeling of Clara, his Clara, surrounding him; all the adorable noises coming from her; he couldn't focus on a single thing.

He tried to keep it slow, he really did, but, spurred on by the gasps, moans, and tiny nonsenses falling from her mouth, his hips took on a mind of their own and he started to move faster and faster. Clara lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist, pushing him deeper into her.

That made it his turn to moan.

"Doctor, I'm close. I'm really close-"

It was all too much. Her moans, her wet heat, her beauty, her hands on his chest and her legs around his waist. "Me, too," he gasped. "Probably, I don't know this body-"

Clara shushed the Doctor and pulled his shoulders down so his head was buried in her neck. "Let's do it as we've done everything else," she murmured. "Together."

With one final, deep thrust, aided by Clara's legs, the Doctor felt himself finish. The orgasm exploded in his body, shooting from all points of contact with Clara straight to his head. He felt Clara judder underneath him and tighten around him, with final, gaspy moans being torn from her throat and right into the Doctor's ear. They rode out the waves as one, still joined as if they were puzzle pieces, before the Doctor removed himself and flopped down on top of the sheets next to Clara.

He interlaced his fingers with hers. "We should get cleaned up."


	2. Do You Really Think I Care for You so Little That Betraying Me Would Make a Difference?

Ever since the tension broke, the Doctor had seen no reason to withhold himself. The sheer amount of casual touch between Clara and himself was enough to leave him drowsy throughout the days - yet spurred him on for the nights.

She would walk past him and let her hand trail along the small of his back, or sit him down in front of her and comb his hair; he would find himself kissing her randomly throughout the days in the TARDIS, or picking her up and carring her places needlessly, just as an excuse for closeness.

Over time, they had gotten to know each other. The Doctor could now close his eyes and summon a perfect rendition of Clara's flawless body to mind - everything from the exact way her hair flowed down over her face to the sparkle in her eyes. He knew exactly when and where to place his hands, the angles and positions that made his partner wheeze, and the meaning of each and every variation of each and every sound - be it an echoing scream or a moan barely audible to human ears.

Heaven, he believed, is what they called this. 

The Doctor ambled around the TARDIS without destination, hands firmly in his pockets, whistling a tune to himself. Just a small something he'd been working on for the guitar; a simple melody that reminded him of his Clara. Rhythmically, it was simple enough; a crotchet followed by two quavers and a minim for the first bar, a solid bar of quavers for the next - the next two bars were merely chordal variations on the stepwise melody. It was a nice enough tune, he supposed, even if nothing could ever do Clara justice. The Doctor halted momentarily to think - Beethoven may be worth a visit. He glanced around himself to discover the winding corridors had led him to a piece of nowhere - he could hardly remember what was behind the great big wooden door ahead of him. He pushed it open to one of the many TARDIS kitchens. Cuppa tea _would_ be nice.

Inside, sat on one of the counters, was Clara. Her legs were open, head against the cabinet behind her, eyes shut and bottom half completely naked. Her left hand steadied herself on the cabinet and her right was between her legs, thrusting three fingers into herself up to the knuckle over and over again. The Doctor found himself stuck to the spot, first surprised and then aroused; he tried to ignore his cock beginning to harden against his trousers and commit this beautiful image ahead of him to memory. His eyes raked over the sight before him, drinking in every detail: the way her back arched, pressing her shoulder blades against the cabinet behind her and throwing her hips forward; the slack, peaceful look on her face as her head lulled from side to side; her closed eyes fluttering against themselves.

An intricate moan fell from Clara's lips, followed by a tiny gasp that took the shape of a word: Doctor.

Realisation dawned on him in an instant, and it threw him over his threshold. He could no longer ignore his erection as it pressed against his trousers - it was _him_. Clara's mind contained and image of _him_ as she touched herself like this. She was imagining that the fingers thrusting into her were _his._

The Doctor undid his trousers, pulled himself into his hand, spat on his palm, and started to gyrate. The sensations of his hand were nothing compared to how it felt to be inside of Clara, of course, but watching her pleasure herself like that was a close second. He could indulge in the same fantasies that she was - if he focused on her face, on the tiny variations of expression that fluttered past it, he could pretend that he was causing those pretty moans that now tumbled from her throat.

Clara's moans became more frequent, her hand sloppier and more feverish, as she reached her climax. The Doctor's own hand started to move faster as it became unbearable. Her noises of pleasure echoed off the tiled walls as she came, bouncing back to the Doctor and making him grunt out in pleasure himself.

Clara's eyes snapped open and she took the Doctor in, dick in hand.

"Doctor!" she said, startled. So startled, in fact, she hadn't removed her fingers from herself. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough," the Doctor replied, slowing his hand on his length as to not finish too quickly and ruin what was to come. He stepped out of his trousers. "You said my name."

Clara blushed a deep red. "I got needy and went looking for you, but couldn't find you. Then, it became too much..." She bit her lip and watched the Doctor as he made his way across the kitchen and positioned himself in between Clara's legs. He took her wrist in his left hand, still using his right on himself, removed her fingers from her core and placed them in his mouth. He took a moment to taste her. Clara's fingers went slack against his tongue.

She used her other hand to run her fingers through the curls at the back of his head. It stirred something in the pit of The Doctor's stomach.

"I couldn't wait, Doctor-"

"I'm glad you didn't."

Her gaze drifted downwards to where the Doctor's hand worked the length of his erection.

The following sequence of events were seared into the Doctor's memory for the rest of his life.

Clara licked her lips. The Doctor's dick twitched in response. Clara smiled wryly and put on an innocent pout.

"Might I have the honour, my Clara," the Doctor asked, rather politely and slowly for the desire burning just behind his eyes, "of tasting you directly?" As much as he wanted to let Clara's beautiful mouth enclose around his member, the taste of her arousal lingered on his tongue and he wanted more. So much more.

The woman ahead of him writhed slightly at his words, her excitement spilling out of her and onto the countertop. The Doctor sank to his knees in front of Clara's open legs, using his long, bony fingers to caress her thighs and open them further still. She hooked her hands around the top of the cabinet to hold herself steady. 

"Are you okay for me to do this?"

Clara nodded feverently. "I need your mouth, Doctor."

Oh, God. She needed him and and only him... The very concept was enough to spark a twist in his guts.

The Doctor began to kiss up the inside of Clara's thigh, nibbling slightly at the flesh and enjoying the gasps and chuckles he was earning himself. Eventually, his mouth had covered the distance from knee to glorious, seeping core, and the whimpers and mews filling the kitchen were so hot the Doctor had to take one hand to use on himself.

But something was wrong. It was as he reached the soft skin where lips meet legs that he realised. Her scent was... Off.

"Clara?" he asked, pulling away.

"Is something wrong?" She couldn't hide the concern in her voice.

He frowned. "You smell different."

She let out a shaky laugh and ran a hand through her hair.

"This-"

"I changed soap, Doctor. That's all."

"Just as I was getting to know you..." His words trailed off into a whisper. "

Is this a problem, Doctor?" She seemed surprised. 

He shook his head not in response but disdain. Just as he knew her, just as he was getting into the flow of things, she goes and changes things. "Oh, Clara. Do you really think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?"

She blinked. "I didn't realise it was such a big thing-"

"Hush," the Doctor interrupted, standing to silence her with a kiss. It was as he lost himself in the movement of her lips he realised how silly a thing it was to be upset about. "I'm sorry - don't worry about it. I'm simply nervous to be with you this way." 

She bit her lip. "Doctor, you're not used to this level of physical intimacy, I can tell." She slipped her hand in through the gaps in the buttons of his shirt and flicked her finger over his nipple. He gasped a little in surprise, and then relaxed into her delicate hands with a groan. "But that's okay. You're sensitive to small changes because you've found something good and don't want it to disappear."

God she was right. She was exactly right.

"I was-" He cut himself off with a grunt when Clara pressed a kiss to his neck in exact synchrony with pinching down on his nipple. "I was in the middle of something." 

Clara continued to work his neck with kisses, even grazing her teeth across his skin occasionally. Each time her lips came into contact with him, he lost a little more control. Over himself, over the situation - he lost control bit by bit until he found himself with both hands on the counter, either side of Clara's thighs, his head falling forward and eyes closed, juddering into the wet heat on his neck.

"I've already cum once today," Clara whispered in his ear, "and I won't let it be believed that I'm selfish." 

He let out a cacophony of sound in return. He was a mess, and for what? All Clara was doing was kissing his neck - he shouldn't have been falling apart in her hands for something so little. He-

His thoughts were cut off by Clara's hand wrapping around his bulging member. With the other, she continued to play with his nipple. 

"You can be as loud as you want, Doctor," she whispered in his ear. "There's nobody else here."

It was her words. Or maybe the proximity. The way she moved her hands with a practised ease to exactly the right places that made him weak; the way her breathing stayed steady over his jagged, uneven gasps and groans; the way she was so close he could smell the sweet aromas that rose from her skin; it made him feel something he hadn't in a very long while.

At home.

The way he was entirely relaxed into her, that was it: that had to be the reason that the hand that slowly moved along his length was making him see stars. 

"Fuck, Clara."

Clara didn't increase her pace, no matter how the Doctor bucked his hips towards her. She simply shushed him and stopped entirely -

"No, Doctor," she'd say. It made him whimper.  
When he finally came, he released a lot more than just his seed. All those years of angst, of loneliness, of misguided and horrible anger towards himself for losing all that was dear to him over and over again - his home, then Rose, Martha, Donna, the Ponds - he finally had something that was his. Something that was right ahead of him.

The Doctor wrapped his arms around Clara's waist and leant his head down onto her shoulder. She responded by dragging her fingers lazily through his hair.

"You're safe with me, Doctor." Her tone was soft and free of judgement. "I'm not going anywhere."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think that I am taking this anywhere near remotely seriously, you're completely wrong lmao - if you think that I have disgraced one of the best lines to be written for TV ever, then you're absolutely correct. Good day


	3. Do You Happen to Know How to Fly This Thing?

The Doctor had stretched himself out along the- well, he had no idea what it was called. He didn't even know if it had a name that could be known. He laid across a stretcher-like platform that hugged the ground and was set on wheels - the sort of thing that mechanics use when working on the undersides of cars.

Which, arguably, was what he was doing. The Doctor had wheeled himself in underneath the console and was tinkering with this and that. Nothing really needed doing, but he enjoyed the work - call it an MOT. 

He had just dislodged a rather important-looking cable when he heard light feet dance down the steps and into the control room.

"Ah!" he called. "Clara." He used his feet to wheel himself out from underneath the console. In her arms, she cradled a box. The Doctor felt his hearts skip a beat. He remembered that box - everything from the faded blue of the lid to the brown coffee stain she'd find on the underside. He sat himself upright.

"I found this in the back reaches of the TARDIS," she offered, gingerly removing that blue lid.

Clara tilted the box forward to show the Doctor its hidden prize. Inside was a drone - and not the cheap type, either. Anti-gravity engineering meant that it had no propellers to get in the way, and its hi-tech piloting software made it one of the most responsive drones that money - or sentiment - could by. It was sleek, streamlined, pleasingly "retro". It was a good bit of kit. 

And, attached to the front, was a dildo. Purple, knobbed, around twelve inches long and easily six in circumference. It certainly wasn't for a beginner. There would be lube in the box, too. Somewhere.

"Do you happen to know how to fly this thing?" Clara asked.

"Oh, no," the Doctor chuckled. "I never went anywhere near the controls." 

Clara raised her eyebrows. 

"That belonged to a friend of mine. We had our fun." He smiled to himself at the memories; the sensations shooting through him and the hearty laughs of the woman behind the controls. "You met her, once. Although she was dead at the time."

Clara thought for a moment and then broke into a smile. "River Song used this on you?" She looked down at the frankly monstrous dildo. 

"Yeah, and what of it?" the Doctor stood from his trolly and flicked a few buttons on the console. The TARDIS whined in response and he remembered the loose cable with a wince. 

"Nothing, I just never pegged you as the type." Her lips tried unsuccessfully to conceal a smile at her pun.

"Shut up." He glared at her through his eyebrows. "Besides, it wasn't me. At least, not this me."

"Floppy hair with the bow tie got pegged?"

"Is that really surprising?"

Clara's face shifted through multiple emotions - abstract horror, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and, finally, arousal - before she guffawed. "No." 

The Doctor walked back around the console and slumped down on his stretcher. Just after he had pushed himself underneath, he felt strong fingers on his knees pulling him right back out again.

"Can we see if it still works?" she asked.

The Doctor sighed. "If I don't finish rewiring this, I'll punch a hole in the space-time continuum-"

"You can multitask."

"I did punch a hole in the time vortex once, Clara, and I really wouldn't reccomend it." 

"Go on."

The Doctor was going to say no, but something in Clara's eyes made his guts churn - begging to be rearranged - and he couldn't find the words. 

He stood himself up and faced Clara. "Go on, then."

She smiled broadly and set the box down. The Doctor took a step towards it, and half registered Clara's arms snaking around him.

Breathlessly, he explained the basic controls, trying desperately hard to not be too distracted by the hands that undressed him or the mouth that stayed stuck to his skin.

He found himself stood, naked from the waist up, in the heart of the console room. Clara stood behind him, but had brought her arms around to undo his belt buckle from an easier angle. The Doctor's hearts pounded against his chest as she whispered for him to step out of his shoes, all the while running her hands across his bare chest. 

"Good," she praised. The word made the Doctor's already raging erection strain even harder against his boxers. "I'll be able to pilot this very well thanks to your explanation." She slipped her hands further around and started to palm him through his slacks - the moans that escaped him were far less than composed. He didn't realise when and how the button on his trousers came open, but it did, so when Clara's hand dipped tantalisingly slowly down the zipper on the Doctor's trousers and they fell immediately to the floor, he was slightly surprised - but enjoying himself too much to pay heed. Clara's fingers ghosted around the hem of his boxers, teasing him slightly, before she pushed those down as well and freed his throbbing cock. 

"Hang on." The Doctor craned his neck around to look at Clara behind him. "Have you ever used a dildo on someone before?"

Clara tilted her head to one side for a second before straightening it out again. "Not on a man. I mean, the mechanics will be slightly different but I'm sure the basic stuff is still the same. Things like this..."

She dragged a finger along where the cheeks of the Doctor's ass met. It was enough of a tease to make his breath hitch and dick twitch, but was nowhere near what he was growing to need. 

"We've gotta get you warmed up, Doctor. That's the same for men and women." She planted a kiss on his shoulder. "Are you okay for me to fuck your ass with my fingers?" 

"Yes. Oh, God, please do." 

"Lube."

He passed the bottle back to her from the box. He heard the liquid slop out onto her hand. She passed the bottle back and he placed it on the console.

She slipped the same finger in between his cheeks and slowly began to push it into his asshole.

The Doctor felt himself being pulled in two directions - half of his brain was swimming with the fingers softly brushing over his chest, the other half focused on the foreign object pushing into him.

"How can I help you relax, Doctor?" Clara asked. His head rolled back. "Show me."

The Doctor took Clara's hand on his chest with his own and guided it down to his member; Clara's fingers instinctively wrapped around it, but didn't move. Both the electricity that surged through him at Clara's touch and the disapointment of her hand being stationary shot through him at once. 

Was she making him baby her? Is that what she wanted? 

The Doctor covered Clara's hand with his own and began to move them both along his length, one atop of the other. There was something about this, something about the specific way he could guide her in this way, that made his knees nearly buckle. It was her hand - his Clara - but he could decide the exact pacing and positioning; when he needed her to gently massage his head, he could simply slide her hand along him - it was the perfect mix of handjobs from yourself and others. Someone else's hand, someone else's warmth, but exactly where you needed it. He should have done this centuries ago.

Obviously, this bliss was what Clara had been looking for. She pushed another finger slowly into the Doctor's asshole, whispering into his ear all the while to ensure he stayed calm.

"Do you usually take your time like this with women?" The Doctor barely managed to squeak out the words.

"Not this slow, not unless I'm deliberately drawing it out. The vagina is built to deal with stuff like this, whereas the anus really isn't."

The Doctor grunted in pain a little as Clara's fingers caught slightly.

"See what I mean?" She stopped the slow thrusting of her fingers. "More lube. Now."

Whereas he was never going to admit it, being told what to do turned him on - a lot. He fumbled for the lube that sat on the console with his free hand - it was like he couldn't get it fast enough. 

"Sorry, this isn't going to be ceremonious." Clara appologised before pulling her two fingers out of the Doctor. He whimpered, partly from the loss of contact and partly from the dryness. He heard that same squelch, but this time felt the lube drop right onto his ass. Clara let it fall down between his cheeks and then reinserted her fingers - they glided right up to the Doctor's prostate. His entire body jerked forward slightly, bucking his hips forward and deeper into Clara's hand.

"I'm guessing that's the sweet spot, then."

He could only moan in response.

"Oh, you're super relaxed now!" Another finger slid in - now, every methodical thrust was catching his prostate, and the Doctor felt himself loosen further and further until all four of Clara's fingers were gliding in and out of him with ease. 

"Are we ready now, Doctor?"

"Fuck, yes."

"I want you to get on your stretcher," Clara whispered, removing both her hands from the Doctor, "push it under, and finish your rewiring."

The Doctor whimpered. He was prepared to beg. 

"Hush, now. Go on."

So he did. He hobbled a little, feeling weird about how distended his now empty asshole was, before lowering himself onto his mechanics' trolley thing and sliding himself under. His cock was still stood to attention - he was in half a mind to sort himself out, but, as soon as he moved his hand down, Clara snapped at him from across the console room.

It didn't take long for the soft buzz of the drone to reach his ears. He couldn't help the excitement - he simply hoped that the thing had been drenched in lube. 

Nevertheless, he felt his hands tighten on the lip of the console. The controls for the drone were pretty self-explanatory, and Clara seemed to be working it fine; it took mere seconds for the tip of the enormous thing to be gently pressed against the Doctor's gaping hole. 

"Clara, please... Fuck me..."

She didn't miss an opportunity. The dildo nudged gently past the Doctor's enterance and into him. Ever so slowly at first, mercifully slick, until it was as far in as it would go. He glanced down to see his stomach had been distended slightly, rising up in a half cylinder to accommodate the sheer mass of the object that now filled him so completely. He didn't register that it was his moans echoing around the console room. 

The dildo started to withdraw, still slowly, until only the tip remained inside him, before starting to push its way deeper into the Doctor than the first thrust. Clara continued to work the controls, steadily increasing the pace until slapping noises was all that could be heard amongst the desperate gasps of a man who's prostate was being masterfully worked. He wouldn't take very long to cum at all at this rate. 

Normally, as both partners reach climax together, sex becomes sloppy. Rhythms are forgotten, paces increase; both start to push as hard as they can to reach the release they've chased together.Machines are not as merciful. Clara could keep her head straight as she sat off to the side. She didn't increase the pace with demand, only on her own whim; this was almost too much to take.

And he still didn't know where that bastard wire had come from. Even if he could hold his hands steady. Even if he could focus his eyes. Even if even a fraction of one of his brains could think of something other than the silicone pounding into him. He didn't know where the bastard wire had come fr-

Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, that's- Oh, shit.

He couldn't even form a sentence in his own mind. The entire trolly was rocking back and forth with him, forced into a hap-hazard motion by the fucking he was getting.

His vision blurred. His mouth fell slack, yet words still came tumbling out. He didn't know what he was saying, but took a strong guess at "Clara" - and, after that, he found thought, and it was her. All he could say, over and over again, was the name of the woman that had yet again turned him into a blubbering mess.

He'd never cum like that before. Ounces of the stuff came spilling out of him and across his chest.   
The dildo pulled out of him one final time and landed itself on the floor a little ways away. Clara pulled the Doctor out from underneath the console and sat next to him.

"You didn't last long," she teased.

The Doctor simply panted. 

Clara leaned in and left a scorching kiss on the Doctor's lips, a devilish grin playing across her own. "I'll have to remember that's there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and did I mention? It's gonna get more and more cursed as we go through.  
> This chapter goes out to my friend Blue, who is trying to distance themselves as much as possible and entirely forgetting that this is their problem - they're giving me the quote prompts! Also, Blue is proof reading this for me (poor sod), so I don't know how distanced they can get from so close.


End file.
